Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Brown John's Body
by
Winston Marks
Erd Neff wanted as little to do with his fellow men aspossible. So he lived alone in his big cash-vault. Alone,except for John....
rd Neff dropped a thin bundle of currency into the $100 bill drawerof the flat-top desk and kicked the drawer shut with a dusty boot.
He flicked the drip from his hooked nose, which was chronicallyirritated by the wheat dust of the warehouse, then he wiped hisfingers down the leg of his soiled denims. Across the 12 X 12,windowless room John stirred awake from the noise and began nosing inthe debris of his filthy cage.
"Time for supper, John?" Neff tugged at the twine at his belt andexamined his $3 watch. He pinched a dozen grains of wheat from atwo-pound coffee can and let them sift through the wires of the cage.John pounced on the grain hungrily.
"Wait a minute! What do you say, dammit?" Neff's hand reached for themarshmallow-toasting fork that hung from a hook on the wall. Hetouched the points, filed needle sharp. "What do you say?" herepeated, twanging the tines like a tuning fork.
John skittered to the far corner, tearing new holes in the oldnewspaper with frantic claws. Cowering against the wires he spathalf-chewed flecks of wheat trying to say the magic words that wouldspare him from the fork. "Tinkoo! Tinkoo!" he squeaked, straining tomake the two syllables distinct.
Neff hung up the fork, and John turned to lick at the old scabsclotted from earlier jabs, taking sullen inventory to be sure therewere no new crimson leaks in his louse-infested hide. Until two monthsago, he had been just one more gregarious specimen of MammaliaRodentia Simplicidentata Myomorphia Muridae decumanus. Now he hadanother name. Like each of his predecessors in the cage, he was alarge, brown rat called John—after Erd Neff's despised and deceasedfather. Neff named all his rats John.
"Well, don't get fat."
John finished the grain, pawed the air and squeaked, "Mur!"
"More, hey? You talk fine when you're hungry."
"Peef, mur, mur!" John begged. He did well with his vowels, but "I"and "s" sounds were beyond him. He said "f" for "s". "L's" he ignoredentirely.
Neff gave him one more wheat head. "Okay, get fat!"
He turned to the door, lifted the inside, mechanical latch, shovedwith his foot and snatched his revolver from his hip-holster. Thevault door opened ponderously revealing an empty warehouse. Neffpeeked through the crack between the hinges to clear the areaconcealed by the door itself.
One hoodlum hopeful had hidden there. Spotting him through the crack,Neff had simply beefed into the foot-thick slab of fireproof steel.Inertial plus surprise had disposed of that one. Neff hadn't even hadto shoot.